There is blood on the rocks,
Smeared and splattered.
Thick and dripping,
This blood of yours.
Brave soldiers.
Your bodies are mangled,
Disfigured and bleeding,
You struggle to stay alive.
As the air you breathe
Kills you slowly.
You lay on the rocks,
Cuts along your body,
Your throat, your chest.
Your eyes are glassy,
Unseeing and dead.
The killers surround you,
Swarming around you,
Slicing and bruising.
You fall from their hands
As they drop you, lifeless.
The bodies of your kin,
Lay metres from you.
You watch as they struggle
For life, for breath.
But you cannot move.
The water recedes,
As the fishermen leave.
With the rods and their knives,
Their hooks and their lines.
They leave few behind.
Your kin lay dying,
Suffocating on the rocks.
Some still struggle,
Some still reach for the water.
Craving its touch.
At sundown,
Your bodies are strewn
Across the rocks.
Brave soldiers of the sea.
Your blood on the rocks.
